Misconceptions
by Smart Alex
Summary: There's bad blood between them, but maybe it isn't their fault. Hayner, Seifer, bean salad, and the reason why things changed. Oneshot.


_There's bad blood between Hayner and Seifer - the town's self-appointed "disciplinarian."_  
-- Jiminy's Journal, KH2

**Misconceptions**

This is the part that nobody quite remembers: Hayner and Seifer weren't always rivals.

They used to be all part of a much bigger gang, with Hayner and Seifer at the helm, Pence tagging along, sometimes Rai, always Fuu, and Olette joining them later. These were the ones to blame whenever anything happened, except for Olette, who refused to participate in the boys' mischief, and thus saved her reputation. (Fuu, of course, could get herself out of anything with a single word.)

People used to wonder why things were so different. They used to ask questions, sometimes out of curiosity, and sometimes just for new gossip. But the answer was always the same, and it soon became an established fact: there is bad blood between them, that's all.

And the funniest part is that strangers never pick up on that the first time.

-

"Hey, I'm home," Hayner yelled, kicking off his shoes. Experience told him to wait until he heard them _thump_ against the wall. They were close enough to the shoe rack, he figured, and moved on.

"You're late," a voice called from the kitchen. "Mom went shopping. She left a note."

Hayner bristled. "I'm home before dinnertime, aren't I?" he demanded. He examined a pot of dubious-smelling stew on the stove, as something fell with a loud crash.

The voice swore.

Hayner flung open the door to the pantry. "What are you _doing_, you moron?"

Seifer glared at him, arms filled with cans of vegetables, boxes of cake mix surrounding his feet. "What's it look like I'm doing?" he shot back.

"Making a mess," Hayner retorted, bending over to pick up some of the cake mixes. "Ugh, this one expired ages ago.. Why doesn't Mom ever throw anything away?"

"Who knows," Seifer muttered, stepping over the pile. "Listen, if you want to eat anything tonight, go find the can opener. There's enough here to make a salad, I think."

"Salad?" Hayner echoed, following Seifer out of the pantry. "For _dinner_? Dude, eating healthy isn't good for you, don't you know that?"

"You could use more salad," the older boy replied bluntly, dumping the cans on the kitchen table. "You're always pigging out on ice cream. How're you going to win the Struggle tournament if you get fat?"

"Shut up," Hayner snapped, and he began to rummage through the cabinets. Finding a can opener, he slammed it down on the table just as a blonde-haired woman entered, arms laden with grocery bags.

"Oh, it's so nice to be home," she sighed, putting the bags down. "Dinner should be ready in a little bit. Seifer, what have I told you about wearing that hat indoors?"

Seifer grumbled, but took off his hat, cramming it in the pocket of his coat. Hayner snickered.

"Are you staying for very long, Seifer?" their mother asked.

He shook his head, and set about opening a can of green beans. "Can't," he replied. "Dad wants me home by eight."

"I see," their mother said wistfully. "Well, it can't be helped."

"So, how's Dad's cooking?" Hayner whispered, as their mother hurried to stir the now definitely burning stew. "It's gotta be better than her stuff, right?"

"He gets takeout every night," Seifer said flatly.

"Oh," said Hayner.

This was the part where he didn't know what to say. It was happening a lot more frequently, and they both knew it, but it wasn't easy to fix. They saw each other nearly every day, but it wasn't the same as it had been.

And he knew what would happen next: dinner would be inedible, just as Seifer had predicted, and they would end up eating his impromptu and disgustingly healthy bean salad. Then Seifer would leave early, while the twilight hadn't quite faded into night, and his mother would subtly try to take one last jab at their father. If there was anyone outside, they would stage a shouting match, and toss insults to each other. They had reputations, now, and a bitter rivalry; but that wouldn't keep them from exchanging a few parting words.

So when that was exactly what happened, Hayner wasn't surprised. The insults were kept short and to the point, the argument about who was a better Struggler left for next time. Seifer lingered in the doorway for a moment, searching his pockets for his hat, appearing as if he had all the time in the world.

"I'll make sure there's real food here next time," Hayner whispered.

"Whatever, loser," Seifer said, and smirked as he jammed his hat back on his head.

Hayner looked outside. The street wasn't too crowded, but a few people were looking curiously at them. He growled theatrically, for their benefit, and slammed the door.

There is bad blood between them, but maybe it isn't of their own doing.

-

* * *

**author's notes**: Every time I replay the game, little parts in the journal always seem to stick out. It's like there's more to it than what's obvious - after all, how could a cricket come up with all the things that appear there? I thought about the word choice here for a while, and eventually came up with this theory.. haha, it's a crack theory, and highly unlikely, but it would be funny, wouldn't it? 


End file.
